


Mark of Cain

by mallotovcocktail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Panic Attacks, SADSADSAD, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:52:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallotovcocktail/pseuds/mallotovcocktail





	Mark of Cain

It’s painful sometimes. He vibrates with it, shivering and quivering. Dean ignores it. He is, of course, successful in ignoring the emotional upheaval that has come with the mark. He cannot, however, keep his body _still_. 

He used to have panic attacks when he was little. Sam didn’t know. Dad didn’t know. He’d start shaking, the ministrations small enough to go unnoticed, and time would slow until he was thinking only about how god damn prolonged every movement he observed was becoming. His first kill had caused one, knife tucking into his palm as he beheaded the young vampire. 

He’d had one when he was 16 and choosing to leave Sonny’s and a life of normality behind and when he lost Sammy while at the arcade.  
The worst one had come when he killed his first human. Time dragged him through days sluggishly, his hands unsteady for nearly a week.

He would never admit that he had a panic attack in the coffin when he awoke from hell. He’d been a grown man and he’d laid in the wooden box, quaking, for hours before he dug himself free and fought for breath through dirt and death and panic. He would never admit that he still has them, after nightmares, when Cas leaves, when Sam looks at him like he’s a stranger.

The Mark feels like a panic attack sometimes, like it was just sitting deep in his gut, shaking him, yelling at him. But while he focuses on the involuntary movement, the occasional twitching and vibrating had nothing on the stabbing pain that he felt inside his very soul. He used to doubt he even had a soul, but now, it was all he could feel, the pathetic creature whimpering inside him as the mark growled and nipped at it’s toes.

Dean’s soul feels like a quivering, useless baby monster. The Mark is stronger than him, than his soul, and Dean almost… almost respects that. He always wished he could do the job without hiding his overbearing emotional reactions, kill without nightmares, hunt without doubt. 

The Mark feels like a panic attack sometimes, when he’s trying to fight it, when it’s making him unrecognizable, when he’s near Cas.

"There’s something different about you." Dean had forgotten for a moment, thought definitively that Cas meant the shaking, the eyes waiting for time to catch up. _There’s something wrong with you_. Then he laughed, trying to brush it off, thinking, _everything’s wrong with me_. 

And Cas left again and a real panic attack filled the waning presence of the Mark’s pseudo attack. Cas left again because Dean had fucked it up because Dean fucks everything up because Dean is fucked up and everything is wrong with him, why can’t they see it? _Why don’t they understand?_

\--

Dean is in his bed, headphones attempting to pop his eardrums, body quaking along the fault lines that extend from both the Mark and his heart and he’s so fucking mad that his body is betraying him like this. Cas left, but Cas always leaves and Dean shouldn’t feel like this is new. He shouldn’t have the attack the thoughts about worthlessness as if he didn’t already accept his pointlessness. He presses his fingers to the Mark. There is purpose in the Mark. He respects it.

His phone is ringing. Dean ignores it, lets it go to voice mail. It’s stops and starts again. He acquiesces.

He answers wordlessly.

"Dean," Cas breaths into the connection.

"What’s up, Cas?" He goes for nonchalance but misses by the chattering of his teeth.

Cas’ breath hitches. 

"I…" He swallow, Dean ignores the tears that are etching the word left into his cheeks. “Pray to me.”

"What?" Dean blanches, voice watery, a dead give away.

"Humor me."

"Castiel, angel of Thursday," Dean prays aloud. "I pray that you tell me the point of this phone call." _That you come back_.

"I can’t hear you." 

"Castiel," Dean rolls his shoulders and begins to repeat himself. "Angel of Thursda—"

"No, Dean. The phone connection is fine. I cannot hear your prayers."

Neither speaks. They have never acknowledged the importance of Dean’s prayers, they both know what they mean. Cas knows what they mean and he still leaves.

"So?" Dean is biting his tongue, drawing blood, body still shivering, eyes unfocused.

Cas inhales sharply.

"The Mark is inhibiting your prayers from reaching me, Dean."

"So?" Dean ignores the silent sob that erupts from him without his consent. 

Castiel remains silent. “You have a cellphone. I can call you if we need you.”

Panic is filling his throat like bile and he’s about to scream, about to disintegrate into nothingness, join Kevin in the veil.

"Why’d you call, Cas?" Dean rubs his hand across his face, scrubs his stubble, anything to occupy his hand.

"I could not hear your prayers."

"I wasn’t praying to you." he bites out the words. The words bite out a small grunt from Castiel.

Cas sighs.

"I was still listening." 

Dean is mad. Mad at Castiel for leaving and Sam for overreacting and himself for existing and fuck wouldn’t this be so much easier if he would just kick it already. Fuck Castiel for making Dean seem important. The Mark is the only important part of him now, the first purposeful piece of himself.

"You’re barely even there anymore," Cas whispers. Dean nods.

He nods again before realizing he has to speak.

"Barely," he croaks. He’s evaporating, floating away.

"What…" Cas starts. "What made Cain stop?"

"Love." Dean is answering on autopilot, his sight fogged with pain. "A woman. A friend."

"Dean…" Cas whispers. "Dean, you have that." 

Dean isn’t hearing him. Dean’s eyes are tracing the sharp edge of a blade on his wall, he’s imagining tracing the edge along his skin.

"Dean, you have Sam and myself." 

Dean grits his teeth as he fights the urge to lick his lips. He’s standing in front of the blade now, watching his reflection, the surface playing with the darkness of his features. _Cas left_ , a small voice inside him screams.

"Dean, you know that, right?" Cas’ voice is falling on deaf ears. Black eyes are searching the span of the metal. Dean’s finger is stroking the point.

"Dean? Dean!"

The blade is in his hand and he’s cradling the newborn blood lust in himself.

—

Dean knows nothing of himself. He has become nothing but fuel and he’s blazing, he’s being exhausted. He looks around. He’s in a warehouse. Abaddon is dead at his feet, Crowley a few yards away. He is fire and ire and blood and he’s an inferno and it’s fucking hot in here. He has a creature at his arm, bleeding. _This creature should be whimpering_ , he thinks. He is no longer Dean. He is nothing, he is terrified, he is glorified.

"Dean," the creature croaks. Dean is not home right now, may I take a message?

"I love you." He is fire and ire not Dean. Not Dean. _Not Dean_.

"I’ve seen you in hell, coated in the blood of other souls, I’ve seen you slay angels and demons alike. As an angel, as a God, insane, and as a man, I have loved you.” _Not. Dean_.

"I will continue to love you, all of you, for as long as you continue to possess an existence.” 

_Not._

_Dean_.

"I love you," Cas croaks. Not Dean watches him, he is a caged animal.

Not Dean slams a fist into the creatures face. “I love you.” Blood falls from the creature, sliding onto Not Dean’s hands and he wants to taste it. “I love you.”

Not Dean throws him to the ground.

"I’m not leaving." Dean pauses, hand around Cas’ throat. "I’m not leaving you. I won’t…" Cas spits out blood. Not Dean still wants to taste it. "Never again. I’m won’t leave your side."

"Why," Dean growls. "Why now?"

The Mark is on throbbing again, the Mark is not him anymore, the Mark is his arm and the fault lines and the cracks in his skin but not Dean anymore. The Mark is Not Dean anymore.

"Because you need me."

"I’ve always needed you, Cas." The Last Blade is on the ground and Dean remembers retrieving it now. Dean remembers Dean now.

"I know," Cas smiles. He fucking smiles. "I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t understand. I do now, I understand."

Dean picks up the blade and Cas stiffens. He hands the blade to Cas. They are standing face to face, close, closer than normal even. Dean wraps his hand around Cas’. Dean smiles, cupping Cas’ face and kissing him. Cas is crying. 

Dean nods, leaning his forehead against Cas’.

"Forgive and forget, Cas."

Dean drops his hands and stares into Castiel’s eyes. 

"I love you," Dean says and the blade slides into his heart and he screams.

He was a light, a candle that burned from the grease of hell. He was a wildfire that blazed through himself and tossed everything down. He was the Mark and the Mark was him and he was lost. 

He is light, a blue spark of righteous intent and free will. He is a sunrise encompassing every hollow place in himself. He is the Righteous Man and he is found.

And he is extinguished.


End file.
